Kiwi and I came up with an idea. She would send me ambiguous prompts, and I'd try writing something based upon it. 3-5 paragraphs or more if I really like the prompt... So... yeah. Hopefully I'll get better at writing this way.
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It was fairly simple. Someone rings the bell signifying an enemy was near, and the bell stayed silent until the battle was won. To some it was just a system. To others, it was almost like a dinner bell for those who were ready to rise up from the depths of hell to collect their soon to be corrupted souls. For one soldier in particular, it was neither. No, the bell didn't trigger any feelings of fear within him; nor did it trigger any sense of obligation to fight for a brighter tomorrow. It was just a stupid bell that the idiots around him had raised onto a false pedestal. They had turned an oxidized hunk of copper into some sort of all knowing entity that would gladly place judgement upon those it deemed unworthy of hearing it's righteous second chime. To not see the bell in such a fashion was considered blasphemy among his peers. Yet once again, the soldier could not find it in his heart to even care. That is... Until one day. One faithful day. While charging towards cover, one of the soldiers he had been traveling up the battlefield with had been hit. He stumbled behind cover with the soldier, clutching his side. The soldier tried his best to assist his companion, only to freeze upon hearing his companion's hushed whispers. He was praying to the bell. That had done it. Something inside him snapped. He cocked his pistol and pointed it at his companion's head. Firing and successfully shutting down the prayers to the supposed copper messiah. The soldier stood up, exposing himself to the enemy. He aimed his pistol at anything he saw move, friend or foe. He charged forward, continuing his murderous onslaught until his pistol had become the only source of gunfire. There was a brief silence as the smoke cleared. There the soldier was; standing amongst thousands of limp bodies in a wide barren battlefield. He had killed every last one of them. He heard the bell chime in the distance, mirroring the sound of death's angels singing their final tune. A numbness had settled down in the soldier's mind, bringing an apprehensive feeling of peace upon knowing this would be the last time he would hear this false prophet's song. For once in his life, the bell had signified something besides the loss of lives. It signified the loss of his humanity. "Zachary? Master Zachary?!" A shout had woken the "soldier" up from his nightmares of the past. His red hair stuck to his forehead from his nervous cold sweat. His eyes shifted to the source of the voice. Ah yes, one of his butlers. "My apologies," The "soldier" mumbled with no real sincerity in his voice. He got out of bed and checked the clock. Afternoon already? "It is quite alright sir, I just wanted to make sure you were up so that you could start making preparations to attend tonight's gala," The butler sighed. "The gala... Right, at Night manor... I'll be down shortly." "Would you like us to set up your means of transportation for you master Zachary?" "No, I can walk, could use some fresh air to clear my mind anyways," The "soldier" chuckled. Maybe some air could assist in getting these chimes out of his head.
